Kim Possible MAX: Cold Open
by Patriot44
Summary: The year is 2000. After one of their agents is nearly killed meeting with an informant in Los Angeles. The ATF sets out to unravel a conspiracy of crime and corruption that spans the West Coast. Special Agent Ben Tetradze takes the lead, but he is given a FBI-affiliated specialist...A twelve-year-old girl named Kim Possible.
1. Chapter 1 - Dropping Dimes and Bodies

**Disclaimer: **_Kim Possible _is property of Disney. I own nothing and don't claim to own anything.

**Warning: **Includes violence & gore, profanity, references to things like sex & drugs, and what some may consider intense scenes. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 1 – Dropping Dimes and Bodies in LA

_North Hollywood. Los Angeles, CA_

_March 2000_

It was dark out and no one was around. The only sounds Ben Tetradze could hear were the crickets chirping and the sound of the quarters as he placed them one by one into the payphone.

"Hi, who's this?" said a tired, scratchy voice on the other end.

"Do you recognize my voice?" Tetradze asked, he had called this person before.

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Yeah, I know who you are."

"I'm in the area, but now you've to tell me where you are."

"You're on a payphone?"

"Yes."

"That's good…I'm at some dive called the Sunwood Lodge. Room 5."

"I'm on my way."

Tetradze hung up the payphone and used the phonebook below to find the address for the Sunwood Lodge. He put his hands in his coat pockets as he walked back to his car, he had an eerie feeling about his surroundings and didn't want to linger around more than necessary. He had park his car a few blocks away in a more brightly lit and busy street. Few people who saw his black Jaguar XJ220 would've guessed that it belonged to a federal agent.

Few who saw him would've mistaken it for a federal agent. He sported aviator sunglasses, a gray hoodie worn over a plaid shirt, black track pants, and well-used running shoes.

He'd met many perps who told him "cops all walk the same" or "Cops all have the same look about them." They would always say this before he revealed to them that he was a cop, then they just seemed surprised.

He unlocked the car and slid into the front seat. As he put the keys in the ignition and listen to the car come to life, he couldn't help but smile to himself.

He drove away from the dark street he was on and began his journey to his new destination. And every drive he went on was a journey for him.

_Ring, ring, it's 7:00AM_

_Move yourself to go again_

_Cold water in the face_

_Brings you back to this awful place_

The feel of his own vehicle, the lights of the city, the activity of people and other vehicles buzzing around. It gave him such energy, passion, and inspiration. It let him know he was part of the world, part of the universe.

The street that ran alongside the Sunwood Motel was busy, even at night. But as Ben turned off the road into the Sunwood's parking lot, he couldn't help but be overcome by a feeling of loneliness and isolation, as if he crossed an invisible barrier.

He parked his car and took note of his surroundings.

To his left was the road, the cars that sped past became moving blurs that paid the motel no mind. One could be forgiven for forgetting that they were vehicles with people in them, and that they weren't merely a fixture of the environment.

To his right was the Sunwood Motel. It was dimly lit, with the few light fixtures it had giving the place an orange tint. As a structure, the motel looked to be about fifty years old, likely built during California's Golden Age in the 1950s. In the dark sky behind the motel, one was barely able to make out the silhouette of three smoke stacks belonging to a nearby industrial facility.

Tetradze opened the glove compartment and pulled out the dossier of the individual he was going to meet.

Dominic Vedovato had at one time been a high-profile trooper of the New Jersey State Police, holding a Lieutenant's rank and having numerous accommodations to his name. But he had a demon inside him: Drug abuse, habitual drinking, a gambling addiction, clinical depression. It was an open secret in the NJSP that Lieutenant Vedovato took part in these things, but so long as it didn't impact job performance, most were content to let him fight his own battles.

All it was took was one or two bad years for everything to unravel. A wife that left him, increasingly irate behavior, some suspicious business involving a loan shark who disappeared and was never seen again, and then finally a sloppy suicide attempt. The NJSP originally intended to terminate Vedovato with cause, but friends in high places were able to knock it down to administrative leave and pending evaluation. He would spend most of the next year recovering in a hospital psych ward and trying to put himself back together.

After ten months of absence, the NJSP cleared Vedovato for field work as an undercover officer, but it came with a demotion and pay cut. He operated in Atlantic City, where he took on the persona of a local gambler and con artist. He worked closely with the AC police and was very well-liked by them. Vedovato was a fast learner and within half a year's time knew most of the familiar faces in the Atlantic City scene. The narcotics players, the vice players, the local gangs and outlaw motorcycle clubs, even connected guys from Philadelphia.

But Vedovato inevitably fucked it up again. During a bust on some drug dealers, one of the perps took out a gun and shot one of the officers. Vedovato returned fire…And didn't stop shooting until he had emptied the magazine into the dealer's body.

The officer survived and the dealer died. The shooting was barely ruled justifiable, but that Vedovato had shot the man fifteen times looked bad. After more than twenty years on the force, he finally lost his badge.

Vedovato wandered after that, Pennsylvania, Florida, Texas, before vanishing into Mexico.

That was until last month, when he resurfaced in the Los Angeles area and got in touch with the ATF. He told them he had information about a person that was wanted by them, and that he would only deliver it in person. For this, the ATF sent Tetradze, who despite his young age, was considered one of the top agents in the nation.

Tetradze put the dossier back in the glove compartment and exited his car. The sounds of the busy street next to the motel drowned out all other sounds. He cautiously approached the darken motel and found his way to Room 5.

The lights to the room were off and the curtains were closed. Tetradze knocked on the door.

"Who's there!?" a voice yelled from inside the room. 

"Tetradze."

A few moments passed. The sound of the room's door being unlocked was heard. The door swung open, standing in the doorway of the dark room was the shadow of a man. The shadow raised a Glock pistol and placed the muzzle against Tetradze's forehead. The federal agent remained stoic the whole time, hands in the pockets of his hoody.

"Show me your badge."

Tetradze took out his leather badge wallet and flipped it open so it could be seen.

The shadow sighed and flipped on the light-switch to the room.

Time had not been kind to Dominic Vedovato. The photograph in his file was of a square-jawed, athletic man with straight dark hair. The man who stood in front of Tetradze was overweight with a large, sad-looking face, and a mess of unruly gray hair. He had the appearance of someone who woke up not too long ago, and the state of his clothes suggested that he had slept in them.

"Come in, quickly." Vedovato said, stepping out of the way of the doorway.

Vedovato closed and locked the door. Tetradze looked around the room. The lone bed was unmade. On one of the bedside tables was a bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, an ash tray, and a lighter. On the dresser was a duffel bag and pizza box. The placed reeked of tobacco and emitted a depressing aura.

"You're an ATF agent?"

Tetradze turned to Vedovato, who was looking at him skeptically.

"Agent Veniamin Tetradze, you can call me 'Ben' if you'd like."

Vedovato was silent for a moment "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-three, I'll be twenty-four in April."

"Get the fuck out of here. How are you a twenty-three-year old ATF agent?"

"Because they offered me the job?"

Vedovato just stared at him.

Tetradze concealed an eye-roll and clarified "I imagine they were impressed by my multiple degrees, patents, and proven capabilities as an auto racer. It also didn't hurt that I had little trouble with any test they put in front of me."

Vedovato regarded the younger, fitter, and overall more impressive law enforcement officer before him with disdain. He pulled back the motel room curtains and peered at the Jaguar in the parking lot "So who're you supposed to be? Doogie Howser meets Knight Rider?"

"If you're using me as a model to examine your own life, then that would be unwise. I don't consider myself better than anyone, I simply have rare gifts." Tetradze knew that was the wrong thing to say, but he felt it needed saying just the same.

Vedovato sneered at him "Fuck you and fuck your humility, I don't envy your ass for shit. I'm not some whiz kid who the feds picked out of study hall because he knew everything. I actually had to work to get my shield, I had to bust heads and pound pavement."

"Perhaps I'm the one who should envy you?" Tetradze suggested.

Vedovato laughed at that "Does it look like fun being a drunk, a junkie, and a fat piece of shit; all at the same time?"

"Not particularly…Might I ask what did the most damage?

"Good question. Probably the heroin and cocaine, but there's also the smoking, the liquor, the milkshakes, double cheeseburgers, Sicilian slices of pizza – Oh and of course pancakes, let's not forget them."

Tetradze closed his eyes and shook his head "My God man, I've seen people fall apart from just one addiction. You've juggled so many that it's miraculous you're still able to function."

"You call this functioning?" Vedovato asked rhetorically.

"At the very least, was such indulgence worth it?"

"I'm on the fence about that. Ask me in ten years if I'm still alive."

"Right…Shall we get on with the matter at hand?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got a dime to drop concerning someone ATF wants."

"And who might that be?"

"You heard of James Cortlandt?"

Tetradze closed his eyes as he accessed the database of information that was stored within his mind. "Hired gun from Phoenix, has a psycho rep. Also known as Jimmy the Kidd?"

"So you've heard of him?"

"I remember everything I read" Tetradze said. It wasn't a boast, it was just the truth. "He was relatively obscure until two months ago when he became the main suspect in the murders of an ATF agent and a federal witness in Sahuarita, Arizona. I presume then, that you have information that could lead to his capture?"

Vedovato smiled, revealing teeth that were only slightly yellow "I can do better than that, Caputo's just a lead. He's involved in some major shit."

"What 'major shit' are you referring to?"

"Ghost White."

Tetradze said nothing for a few moments.

"If you're a fed," Vedovato began, a confident smirk on his face "And you remember everything you fucking read, then I'd be willing to bet you've heard of that shit too."

In the few moments that he had said nothing, Tetradze had briefly gone over all the knowledge had had about Ghost White. It was a type of high-grade cocaine that been coming out of South America recently. It got its name from its color and purity. Ghost White cocaine was a dazzling bright white and was of a higher quality of more than eighty-percent of the cocaine being produced in the western hemisphere.

Where the cocaine was made and the identity of who was making it was a closely guarded secret. The farthest back anyone could trace its trafficking routes was to the Amazon. According to one source, there was a state-of-the-art lab hidden in the rainforest. According to another source the Amazon was just another part of the route, with it's vast and uncharted territory a convenient smokescreen for concealing the true origins of Ghost White.

There had been several attempts by various parties to replicate the formula for Ghost White, but in each instance the process had been too costly to be profitable. For this reason, any Ghost White was an invaluable commodity on the street. Any person or organization that got a hold of enough of it was in the position to throw their local criminal element off balance.

"Tell me what you know" Tetradze asked coolly.

"Two days from now, forty keys of Ghost White are gonna be loaded into a truck down near San Pedro. Cortlandt's been hired to retrieve the truck and take the shit to its next destination."

"How was the Ghost White smuggled in? The Port of Los Angeles?"

"Couldn't say."

"Do you know where Cortlandt's taking it or who hired him to do this?"

Vedovato shook his head. "I don't know that either, my source only gave me a time, a place, and Cortlandt's name. He had the good sense to not tell me everything all at once."

"Who's your source?"

"Old buddy of mine named Cam. Used to be a bookmaker in Atlantic City, now he's based out of Vegas. This fucking guy, I don't know how he does is, figures out shit he's not supposed to know. When he gets here, he'll be able to tell you more."

"Cam is coming here?" Tetradze said, looking surprised.

"Yeah didn't I mention that?"

"No."

Tetradze and Vedovato looked at each other awkwardly.

"Um," Vedovato muttered. "He'll probably be able to tell you about a bunch of other shit going on in this town, Vegas too if you're interested."

"For the time being," Tetradze said, crossing his arms, "we'll focus on Cortlandt and this supposed 40 keys of Ghost White. Once its merit has been verified, we'll see what else Cam knows."

"That's probably better, I'll have to pay him for every tip he gives you."

Tetradze analyzed him curiously "What are you getting out of this? You're no longer a law enforcement officer."

"I like being useful."

They stared at each other.

"That sounded a lot less pathetic in my head" Vedovato added.

"You shouldn't care so much about what I think" Tetradze said humbly.

"I don't, I care about what I think."

Tetradze shrugged, he couldn't help but be curious as to where this conversation would lead. "Would you care to tell me about it?"

Vedovato looked as if he was about to retort with hostility; but thought better of it as he considered Tetradze's request. He hung his head and was quiet for a few moments. "I'm fucking depressed," he finally admitted.

Tetradze nodded solemnly "I know a bit about that."

"You're still just a kid, try dealing with it at my age. I thought taking my fat ass out of Jersey would help, change of scenery or some shit."

"Would you rather be back there?"

"No. Fuck no. I've been to some shitty places, but I fucking hate New Jersey. I left to get as far away as possible from the shit from which I came…But that doesn't change the fact that I came from it. No matter where I go, I'm still a Jersey degenerate."

Tetradze smiled to himself, silently amused "Hmm, I suppose that's another thing you have in common with Aaron Burr."

The ATF agent pulled out his flip phone and dialed a number.

"That's another thing I _what?"_

The phone was ringing.

"Nelms."

"It's Tetradze. I need you to collect all available information for me on an individual known as James Cortlandt."

"Can do"

"I also need all available information on the cocaine formula called 'Ghost White.'"

"I didn't know cocaine was the ATF's purview."

"Cortlandt's an ATF fugitive, and he's potentially involved with the trafficking and distribution of Ghost White. I need to know every detail."

"I'll get back to you shortly."

"Great, thanks Nelms."

He hung up and turned back to Vedovato. "Now we wait for you man, the information I get from him and the should lead to actionable intelligence."

"Don't suppose you have a deck of cards?"

"You do realize I'd win any game you'd want to play?"

Vedovato didn't answer, he instead went towards the bathroom. "I gotta take a diabetic piss," he said as he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

Tetradze went over to the pizza box on the dresser and opened it, there were two slices left in it. He picked one up and sniffed it.

There was a knock at the door, the ATF agent slowly approached the door and looked through the peephole. Standing outside was a dark-haired man with a soul patch, this was probably Cam.

He placed one hand on the Kimber handgun that was concealed inside his hoodie and used his other hand to crack open the door.

"Tell me who you are?" he said quickly through the crack in the door.

"Who's there?" said the dark-haired man, clearly startled.

"Tell me who you are" Tetradze repeated.

"Uh…I'm Cam, you're the guy?"

Tetradze opened the door fully, still keeping his hand on his gun as he did so. "What do you mean I'm 'the guy?'" he asked

Cam gave Tetradze a quick look up at down "Vedovato said you were a fed."

"Agent Veniamin Tetradze."

"Agent what?"

"Just call me Ben, come inside."

Tetradze backed into the room, letting Cam come in and look around. "Where's Vedovato?"

"Taking a diabetic piss."

Cam snickered "Really?"

"His words not mine."

"Shit…So who're you with ATF?"

"Yes, and as I understand it."

Cam gave him kind of a funny look "Yeah, uhhh…Jimmy Cortlandt and the cocaine right?"

"Who else is involved besides Cortlandt?"

"I…have some leads"

"Such as?"

Cam began to stare at him more intensely "Are you sure you're ATF?"

Tetradze thought this was a peculiar question "Why would I be unsure?"

Cam smiled at him for some reason "It's Tetradze, right?"

Tetradze didn't answer, something was wrong.

He then realized something…

Cam had never taken his eyes off him the entire time he'd been here, and Tetradze had likewise never taken eyes off him. Cam was waiting for Tetradze to turn his back or at least look elsewhere, they were in a standoff and he hadn't realized it until now.

The bathroom door opened "Who the fuck is this?"

The man who had introduced himself as "Cam" looked over to see Dominic Vedovato staring at him like he was a stranger. He flicked his wrist, producing a small pistol that had been concealed within his sleeve. But Tetradze had already drawn his Kimber and fired into the man's chest. "Cam" fell against the wall

"Oh shit!" Vedovato shouted.

Tetradze shot him the imposter a second time in the torso. He slid against the wall, leaving a visible blood trail, before tumbling to the ground.

"What the hell did you do!?" Vedovato said loudly "Who is this guy!?"

"He told me he was Cam," Tetradze said stoically as he lowered his gun.

"What!?"

"He knocked on the door and identified himself as 'Cam'" Tetradze clarified.

"Well then where…" Vedovato hesitated, he didn't want to ask the question he was about to. "Where is Cam?"

Tetradze thought about this for less than a second "Did anybody else besides him know that we we're meeting here?"

"No, I only told Cam"

Tetradze sighed as he came to an unfortunate conclusion "Then they probably intercepted Cam, extracted the information from him, and replaced him with this man. I regret to say that it's extremely unlikely that Cam is alive and well."

Vedovato's hand went to his head, he looked very defeated "Fuck. FUCK! I knew this was gonna happen!"

Tetradze pulled out a pocket-knife he always carried around with him and bent over the body of the man he just killed.

Vedovato stared confused "What're you doing?"

"I'm going to get a fingerprint sample for Nelms," Tetradze said as he picked up one of the dead man's hands, "and we're going to find out who our friend here is."

He began to cut through the man's thumb.

"You're cutting his finger off?" Vedovato said, looking alarmed.

"Yes."

Vedovato turned away, not wanting to look.

This wasn't the first finger Tetradze had removed from a dead body. Cutting through the bone was the difficult part, the rest of it was easy.

"Get me some toilet paper from the bathroom" Tetradze ordered Vedovato.

"Shit, yeah-"

Vedovato went into the bathroom and quickly returned with a few squares of toilet paper. Tetradze enclosed the severed thumb within the tissue and then put it into his coat.

"What now?" Vedovato asked.

Tetradze stood up "Now I call the police, and they send the cavalry."

He flipped open his phone and was about to dial 911, when he noticed the disconcerting silence that surrounded him.

"Do you-"

"What?" Vedovato said

He heard a barely audible clicking sound

"Get down!"

Tetradze threw himself to the floor just as a barrage of gunfire ripped through the east wall of the room. Vedovato was too slow and caught two shots to the torso, the former New Jersey police officer fell.

"Damn it" Tetradze cursed.

Someone began breaking down the front door to the hotel room. Gun still in his hand, Tetradze rolled over on his back and aimed at the door. He fired three strategically placed shots down the middle of the door. Whoever was on the other end of the door yelled out and fell to the ground with a thump.

The sound of a chainsaw jolted Tetradze's attention to the room's door to the adjoining room. Sure enough, the blade of a chainsaw was visible as it cut through the middle of the door. Tetradze grabbed the small pistol from "Cam's" sleeve so that he now had two pistols to dual-wield.

A burly bald man crashed through what was left in the door, the chainsaw still in his hands. Tetradze opened fire on him with the two pistols

The big man took shots to his legs and torso and fell on his own chainsaw. He let out a yell that was quickly cut off as the saw tore through him.

The front door to the room was kicked open, a gaunt man with short hair stumbled in. He was bleeding from where Tetradze had originally shot him, in his hands was a Remington 1100 shotgun.

Tetradze swung his Kimber in the gaunt man's direction. The man brought the shotgun up towards him, but Tetradze was quicker and placed a clean shot in his head.

Blood sprayed from the back of the gaunt man's skull and splattered against the wall.

"What's going on in there?" someone could be heard yelling from the other room. Most likely the man who had been shooting through the wall.

Tetradze dived towards the now dead gaunt man's shotgun, scooped it up in his hands, pointed it towards the wall and fired a burst.

"Damn it!" the man in the other room yelled.

The ATF agent forced himself to his feet and ran across the room to the bathroom. As he passed by the now broken door to the adjoining room, the third assailant appeared made his way through it. He was a slightly older man with curly hair and a hopped-up look on his face, in his hands was a Uzi submachine gun.

Tetradze hurled himself into the bathroom, and then gracefully vaulted into the bathtub. Not more than a millisecond after he laid down in the tub, the gunman outside sprayed the bathroom walls with his weapon.

The mirror above the sink shattered, the walls of the rundown bathroom were riddled with holes, several of the tiles that adjourned the walls on the inside of the bathtub came apart and fell on top of Tetradze as he made himself as small as he possibly could.

The moment the attacker's shape appeared in the bathroom door, Tetradze began to fire the shotgun from his position in the bathtub. He fired in all directions, squeezing the trigger and pulling the slide back until there were no rounds left in the chamber.

Tetradze waited a few moments and listened to the dead quiet that followed.

He peered out of the bathtub to see the form of the third assailant's dead body outside the bathroom. Breathing heavily, he climbed out of the bathtub. His body beginning to relax, his training told him to remain vigilant until he was sure no more enemies were coming, but his intuition told him the attack was over.

As he went back into the room, he looked over the five bodies. What a mess.

He was able to make out someone shouting in the distance. Naturally such a battle inside a motel room was bound to be noticed. The police would be on their way. He placed the shotgun on the ground and took a seat on one of the beds. He'd wait for the police to secure the area and then identify himself as an ATF agent.

_ATF San Francisco Field Division_

_12 Hours Later_

Half a dozen federal agents sat in the conference room. They had been called in to discuss a situation that was developing in Los Angeles that concerned one of their agents.

Even though the situation had played out in a city that was out of their jurisdiction, Agent Tetradze belonged to the San Francisco Division and was meeting with an informant that had asked for him specifically.

Assistant Special Agent in Charge Vera Caputo sat in her chair like it was the captain's chair on the Starship Enterprise. A tall, forty-year-old blonde woman who commanded power and respect. She was bound for the top the moment she, she could've been a lawyer or a politician, but instead she was in federal law enforcement. "I have my reasons," she would often tell people.

Supervisory Special Agent Curtis J. Lippert was Caputo's immediate subordinate. Originally a studious desk agent with the Denver Division, Caputo took note of him early in his career and eventually selected him to her protégé. He would've gone far either way, but Caputo had guided him in a direction that suited him.

Special Agent Dennis Kirillov was into his forties, but still had a young, energetic look about him. His lifestyle choices and his dedication to martial arts seemed to make getting older a small bother to him. He was the handler for Agent Veniamin "Ben" Tetradze and the one who had originally brought him into the ATF. Most of Tetradze's assignments went through him.

The others were various senior agents with the San Francisco Division.

"Fantastic," Caputo said disdainfully. "I could've not hoped for a better way to begin the New Millennium; a motel room massacre, one of our own the only survivor, five dead including a police officer. And just as the bureau was nearly rid of the stench from Ruby Ridge and Waco."

"Former police officer," an agent named Mitchell interjected, aiming to be helpful "One with a history of erratic behavior, substance abuse, allegations of misconduct."

"And the other four were all known lowlifes," Agent Garren added.

"As if the press will care," Caputo shot back sharply. "Fuck it, let's continue…The man who was impersonating Vedovato's contact Cameron Ripley, what we do we know about him?"

"Ben sent his finger in for identification," Kirillov said. "The guy's a hitman…Heh, or at least he was."

Lippert flipped to the appropriate section of the briefing booklets that each agent had, the rest followed his lead "Sotirios Fotopoulos; sometimes known as Sid Fotopoulos, holds dual Greek and U.S. citizenship. A drug trafficker and contract killer active in the Los Angeles area. He was primarily affiliated with the Russian and Armenian syndicates in the city, but there are instances of him working for enough people that anyone could've hired him."

"What happened to the real Cameron Ripley?" Caputo asked.

Lippert flipped a page "He was found dead in Griffith Park by hikers the next morning. Looks to have been dumped there."

"Tell me about the three that came him after he died."

"Local talent," Kirillov said, "In a place like LA there's never any shortage."

"Autopsy revealed they had speed in their system," Lippert explained. "Likely provided by Fotopoulos along with the guns."

"My guess?" Kirillov spoke up again. "He wanted to make sure the job was done, and Ben was killed. So he had the three stooges reinforce him, not that it did him any good."

"How do we know he was trying to kill Tetradze and not Vedovato?" Mitchell asked. "Maybe Ben was just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"We're getting to that" Caputo said curtly. "Lippert?"

"We looked into Fotopoulos's finances. Less than 24 hours before his death, a bank account that had been opened using one of his pseudonyms received a payment of $75,000. The money came from a shell company based out of Carson City, Nevada. The company in question has been used to launder money for various high-profile criminals active in California and Nevada, the most prominent among them, and the only one with a connection to Tetradze, is Calvin Shepherd."

The mention of Shepherd's name had produced reactions from the agents. Garren sneered, Kirillov audibly breathed in and out his nose, Caputo's already icy aura simply became icier.

"Some of you are clearly familiar with him," Caputo said darkly. "For those of you that aren't, Lippert will review."

Caputo's adjutant flipped to a different section of the briefing. "Calvin Shepherd," Lippert began, "Born 1967 in Philadelphia. First appeared on the radar in the 1980s as a low-level associate of the Philadelphia Irish Mob, he started out with robberies and assaults, nothing spectacular.

"This changed though, when the Irish Mob started expanding into meth, Shepherd was on the front lines for that. His new alleged activities included narcotics distribution, arson, extortion, and a purported _seven _counts of murder, none of which he was ever convicted of."

"The robberies and assaults were preferable," Kirillov remarked.

"Oh, they still continued," Lippert said. "They were just worse than before."

He returned to the briefing "Most of the money Shepherd earned was poured into his main passion, which was street racing. He had three cars; all of them stolen, all of them fitted with new parts and given new paint jobs, and all of them tuned for street racing. Shepherd effortlessly rose to the top of the illegal street racing scene in Philadelphia. Whenever he ran out of racers to beat, he expanded his scope to South Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, other towns and cities in Pennsylvania. In the span of one or two years, he became the top illegal street racer in the Mid-Atlantic region."

"Once it became clear he'd outgrown the Irish Mob in Philadelphia, Shepherd cut all ties with them. Sold all but one of his cars and drove west out of Philadelphia. His former bosses viewed him as a liability and sent people after him, but all either died or disappeared in their pursuit of him."

"The next five years are hazy, but Shepherd would periodically show up at locations in the United States and Canada, mostly competing in local street racing circuits. Occasionally some robbery or random act of violence would be attributed to him. Then finally, in 1995, he resurfaced in California, leading a group of illegal street racers that all but sprung up overnight."

Lippert paused up and looked up at his fellow agents "This group is now known as the Con-Quest Motor Club."

This produced another visceral reaction. One of Kirillov's hands was balled into a fist, Garren muttered what sounded like a curse under his breath, Caputo's eyes burned with righteous rage as she stared ahead with her hands clasped in front of her.

Lippert continued, "In no small part to Shepherd's leadership, what was once a small clique of street racing enthusiasts is now a sophisticated network of smuggling, auto theft, and hijacking. The group has twenty official members divided into five crews, as many as eight prospective members, and an undeterminable number of associates spread across five states. Many DOJ analysts believe that if left unchecked, the Con-Quest Motor Club could become a major criminal force and asset of trasnational organized crime."

Lippert stopped and looked up.

"Thank you, Curtis" Caputo said to Lippert.

"What's the connection between Tetradze and Shepherd?" Mitchell asked.

Kirillov explained, "Last July, Ben found a chop shop that Con-Quest were running up north in Redding. There was a shootout in a garage, and two of Shepherd's guys were killed. One of them was a guy he knew from Philly, I guess they were tight because Shepherd lost his shit. He got Ben's badge number, started gunning for him: That shit that went down last October on Interstate 5? Ben thinks that was Shepherd."

Mitchell had another question "And this shell company out of Carson? There's no one else involved with it that may have some connection to Tetradze?"

"No one that fits as perfectly as Shepherd" Lippert stated.

"What about this angle with Cortlandt and the Ghost White?" Garren began "Is there any reason to believe it has something to do with Shepherd?"

"Ben has a theory" Kirillov said.

Caputo was looking at her hands "His are usually good, let's hear it."

"Tetradze was asked for specifically by Vedovato, and then gunmen that can linked back to Shepherd try to take him down. It's therefore within reason, that Vedovato, or his contact Cam Ripley, had reason to believe that Shepherd was somehow involved with Cortlandt and the Ghost White."

"Shepherd finds out that Vedovato wanted to drop dime about it to Ben Tetradze, the same ATF agent he wants to see dead. He figures he can kill two birds with one stone, let's that asshole Fotopoulos loose."

Caputo was quiet for a bit, the rest of them could almost hear the gears in her brain turning. "A plausible theory, even if it is just guesswork. Regardless, I want every angle of this covered, and that includes the Ghost White."

"Who should we put on it?" Lippert asked.

Caputo blinked. "Tetradze of course," she said.

"He was just involved in a shooting. He should cool down for a few days" Lippert suggested.

Kirillov laughed, "This is Ben we're talking about. He's not gonna cool down after somebody took a shot at him. He's gonna want to get back out there."

"Well it's not up to him," Lippert countered

"Yes, it's up to me," Caputo said. "There are few who produce desired outcomes the way he does. And if there's an opportunity to take Shepherd and his group down a level, Tetradze belongs on the front lines."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that," Kirillov said with grin.

"Should we have someone backing him up?" Mitchell asked.

"He likes to work alone" Kirillov responded.

"He has a target on him. It's a no-brainer to have someone watching his back."

"I concur with Mitchell," Caputo said. "Trouble is finding someone who can keep up with Tetradze."

"I believe I can be of assistance" said a person who hadn't spoken before.

A few moments passed where nobody said anything or looked at each other. Eventually the ATF agents turned their attention to a man who sat by himself in a chair in the corner of the conference room. His legs were crossed and he had a composition journal which he was leisurely writing in.

Special Agent Harris Barnes was the FBI's liaison with the ATF.

They were all weary towards him, not just because he was from another agency, but because of his reputation. Barnes was a nineteen-year veteran of the Bureau and a legend within the federal law enforcement community.

When asked what he did to get such a reputation, Barnes would confidently respond "the last two decades." And it was true, from the moment he was recruited in 1981, Barnes seemed to effortlessly succeed at what he did. And he had done a bit of everything; gang-and-narcotics interdiction, white-collar crime, murder cases, overseas operations. He was also part of an FBI-CIA task force, and even those FBI-hating, government-overthrowing pricks at the CIA couldn't help but respect the guy.

He had a can-do, All-American, demeanor reminiscent of a past era; possessed an intimidating intellect, and was well-connected to both the political parties in D.C. All of this factored into why the assembled ATF agents were cold towards him, a few of them still needed to be convinced he was really a person and hadn't been made in a lab somewhere.

"Of assistance how?" Agent Caputo said eventually.

Even though it was clear to everyone that he was swinging his weight around, Barnes still spoke and conducted himself with remarkable humility "I have a…specialist, who I have been eager.

"We have plenty of suitable agents that will be happy to assist Tetradze," Caputo said, trying not to sound agitated. "We don't need the FBI to provide one."

"Of course," Barnes said agreeably. "It is not my intention to demean the capabilities of your agency, I simply know from experience that the even best people benefit. If you please, you can think of it as…babysitting assignment."

The ATF agents were now all looking at the FBI agent like he was an asshole.

"I beg your pardon?" Caputo said delicately.

Barnes realized what he said and immediately corrected himself. "My apologies, I should've been clearer. It'll be a babysitting assignment in that Agent Tetradze will be the one babysitting my specialist."

"And why would your specialist need to be babysat?" Lippert asked.

"She's twelve-years-old" Barnes said as-a-matter-of-factly.

This statement was followed by a dense silence.

"What?" was all Caputo could say.

_Middleton, Colorado _

The girl's cellphone began to ring, it wasn't her regular cellphone which her parents had given to her. It was her second cellphone, the one that only rang when her help was wanted.

She stopped what she was doing and went to answer it.

"Hello Kimberly," said a familiar voice.

"Agent Barnes, I was wondering when you'd call" Kim Possible said with a smile.

"I've found something else for you to do."

"Cool."

Reviews are appreciated

**Tetradze's Playlist: **

"The Magnificent Seven" by The Clash


	2. Chapter 2 - A Consultant for the FBI

**Disclaimer: **_Kim Possible _is property of Disney. I own nothing and don't claim to own anything.

**Warning: **Includes violence & gore, profanity, references to things like sex & drugs, and what some may consider intense scenes. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 2 – Consultant for the FBI

_ATF San Francisco Field Division_

ASAC Caputo was slowly reading through the documents in a folder. She had the appearance of someone who understood what she was reading but was astonished she was reading it.

Agent Barnes sat in the chair in front of her desk. His chin in his hand as he watched Caputo look through the folder.

"How did…" she began to say slowly.

When she didn't finish her sentence, Barnes took that as his cue to speak up "How did what?"

Agent Caputo closed the folder and looked at Barnes perplexedly. She held up the folder as if it were evidence in a courtroom "There are waivers and procedures in here that I never knew existed. Where…" she paused, wanting to choose her words carefully. "Where did you even begin to look when you first had the idea of using a minor in federal operations?

Agent Barnes examined his fingers "I could tell you about that…But I could tell you about her too."

"About Miss Possible? What might you tell me about her?"

"That it wasn't just me…I'd never have been able to put her in the field in any capacity if she hadn't demonstrated how deserving she was of it."

Caputo understood "She's that good at what she does?"

"I used her on two previous occasions last year, the most recent in October. She assisted me with a homicide in Dallas, the Fletcher case."

"That was _her?"_

"Partially, you heard of it?"

"Read the file, it kept mentioning a 'consultant for the FBI' but was scant on the details."

"That was my doing, I don't need an unnecessary amount of people aware of Kimberly and her relationship with the Bureau…At least not yet."

"What do you mean 'not yet?' You have plans for her?"

"Kimberly's already proven herself to have capabilities beyond what someone her age should have, but she has more to show us. The more she does, the more her reputation will be. Eventually there'll be a point where her usefulness is inarguable, and she'll no longer need me as an advocate."

Caputo blinked a few times "Well you certainly seem to have high expectations of her."

"Give her enough time, and she can do anything."

_Los Angeles_

The house in Long Beach was frequently used by federal agents. FBI, DEA, and ATF mostly, but also Treasury agents from time to time.

Kim Possible was there alone right now, a car with a U.S. government license plate had picked her up at LAX and brought it there. The driver never said one word, and she knew enough not to say anything either.

Her instructions were to await Special Agent Veniamin Tetradze of the ATF. In the meantime, there was a dossier located on the coffee table of the house's living room, and she instinctively understood that it had been left just for her.

From what little she'd been told; the ATF was after some serious wacko called "Jimmy the Kidd" Cortlandt. The reading material in the dossier filled her in on what he was about.

Born in Phoenix, Arizona to a Caucasian father and a Hispanic mother. No one's certain what was responsible for creating "Jimmy the Kid." As a minor, he was expelled from half-a-dozen schools and never finished the eleventh grade. His juvenile record included assault, vandalism, larceny, possession of a deadly weapon, and criminal sale of narcotics.

As an adult, he settled into a role as a small-time criminal in the Phoenix area, etching out a living as a hired gun and petty thief. He very early on established a reputation for unpredictability and could be relied on to do things that others wouldn't do.

He had worked with numerous gangs and criminal organizations, but none of this had ever amounted to any close affiliation. His anti-social behavior and pathological hatred of authority was so palpable that he could never be more than a freelance criminal.

Over his criminal career, he'd gone by many nicknames and pseudonyms such as Joe Bronte, Duke Carter, Eddie Maricopa, and James Cortlandt. He hated his legal birth name, saying that it reminded him of a "time when I was a bitch." The last person to use his name in front of him ended up with Drano in their eyes.

In recent years, he gained much notoriety as James Cortlandt and became known on the street as "Jimmy the Kid," a self-assigned nickname and emulation of the outlaw "Billy the Kid."

He had, until last winter, been a small fish (although a particularly rotten one) in the large pond that was Phoenix. But last winter he committed a crime that signified his graduation to the criminal big leagues.

A witness in a federal gun-running case was under ATF guard at a safehouse in Sahuarita, Arizona. Someone found out the location of the safehouse, and someone sent Jimmy the Kid. He killed the witness, along with one of the ATF agents. The second agent survived; but had to be hospitalized.

It was later discovered that one of the ATF agents had shot Jimmy twice, but this apparently didn't slow him down. He fled to nearby Tucson where a back-alley doctor patched him up. That doctor was found dead in the bathroom of his apartment, also found were the two bullets that he had pulled out of Jimmy. The doctor was killed as soon as he ceased to be useful.

He went dark after that, becoming one of the most wanted fugitives of the ATF and the U.S. Marshals. Now it was March, and he was supposedly in Los Angeles for some drug mulling job.

That was why Kim was here, her acquaintance in the FBI, Harris Barnes, believed she could be of assistance. She was happy to help, there was something very fulfilling about fighting crime.

Kim's second cellphone rang, she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Am I speaking to Kimberly Possible?"

"Kim is fine."

"Terrific, I'm Special Agent Ben Tetradze and I'll be by shortly. How quickly can you be ready?"

"I'll be outside before you get here."

She pocketed her cellphone, now all she needed to do was equip herself with the proper tool. On the dining table of the house was a black weapons crate, a piece of paper sat on top of it. Kim read what was on the paper.

_I had this left just for you; aware it's in good hands. Someone will come get it once all is said and done._

_H.B._

She opened the to see there were a selection of handguns for her to choose from. She paid little attention to all but one them, grabbing the Glock 22 as soon as she laid eyes on it. She concealed the pistol and pocketed some ammunition before heading out the door.

It was a beautiful California day outside, a perfect day to throw a wrench in the plans of some bad guys. She was only waiting outside for a few minutes when a sudden noise drew her attention.

A black Jaguar was rumbling down the street towards her, she took a step back as it came to a stop in front of her.

"Whoa," she said.

The passenger's window was rolled down, music was blasting from inside the car.

_I want to live in Los Angeles_

_Not the one in Los Angeles_

_No, not the one in South California_

_They got one in South Patagonia_

Kim leaned her head into the car, the driver was a slender blonde man wearing sunglasses and a black-and-red tracksuit.

"I take it you're Kim?" he said over the loud music.

"That's me, Agent Tetradze I presume?"

Tetradze smiled "Am I what you expected?"

"Am I?" Kim responded.

"Ha-ha, hop in."

She did so and found that the brown leather of the interior was just as appealing as the black exterior.

"You better buckle up" Tetradze said coolly.

She did so immediately. Tetradze took off down the road, Kim felt a thrill of exhilaration as the vehicle she was in accelerated with such smoothness and speed.

"Sweet ride."

"It better be, I put enough money and care into it."

"Do ATF agents make a lot?" she asked.

"I donate most of my salary to various philanthropic pursuits" he stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

Kim blinked in surprise and was on the verge of asking another question, Tetradze intercepted her before she could ask it. "I have multiple sources of income" he explained.

"Oh…Like what?"

He turned down his music "Ah well I have several patents. I've written four books; one is about automotive engineering and how it connects to mechanical, electrical, electronic, and software engineering; one is about the unique influence Sir Isaac Newton had on both scientific and religious thought, one is a beginner's guide for comparative literature as an academic field, and one is a _bildungsroman _about a Cossack soldier fighting in Stenka Razin's rebellion against the Russian Tsardom."

He paused as they came to a stop light, but soon resumed talking.

"I've also been banned from three Las Vegas casinos because whenever I gamble it's not actually gambling. But perhaps my favorite way to make money is to take junk cars and work on them until their worth selling for vast sums."

When Kim didn't respond, he glanced over to her. She was looking at him with barely concealed awe.

"I guess they didn't tell you much about me" he said, smiling

Kim cleared her throat "Only that you were…sort of young to be doing what you were doing."

"Says the twelve-year-old who serves as a consultant for federal law enforcement."

She thought about this…Is that why Barnes had her paired with Tetradze? Because of how young and uncommonly distinguished they both were?

Tetradze broke her thought process "But yes; I'm the youngest field agent currently serving in the ATF. Perhaps you'd like to tell me what your story is? I somehow think it's more interesting than mine."

Kim blinked "My story?"

"Yes, how does a twelve-year old become a consultant for the FBI?"

"Oh…Well Agent Harris Barnes approached me, I guess he was impressed by the things I was doing where I lived."

"Where do you live?"

"Middleton, Colorado."

"And what sort of things were you doing?"

"At first I was just doing things for my neighbors and friends of my family; babysitting, walking dogs, watering plants…But then Mrs. Rogan hired me to clean her attic."

Kim paused, Tetradze's high-functioning brain only needed a moment to form a response "I gather that something irregular occurred in the attic?"

"I found a hidden compartment" she responded.

"The plot thickens, what was in the compartment?"

"A book of momentos and some gold bars that'd been stolen in a 1978 bank robbery in Buffalo, New York. Apparently, Mr. Rogan had a very colorful past."

"What did you do after you found the compartment?"

"I went to the police and Mr. Rogan got arrested…I never saw much of Mrs. Rogan after that."

They were quiet for a while.

"That's a good one, I like that story" Tetradze said stoically. "Give me another one."

"Okay...Well a few weeks later, Miss Seabrook asked me to babysit her two kids while she and her boyfriend went to some sort of party."

"Let me guess," Tetradze said knowingly. "Something else happened right?"

"Miss Seabrook's estranged ex-husband showed up at the front door and demanded to see his kids."

"Ah, excellent," Tetradze said, looking to be enjoying himself.

"He broke in, shoved me to the ground, and went to wake up his kids. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and stabbed him in the leg while he was going up the stairs. He fell down the stairs, but he kept fighting back, so I stabbed him again in the foot. Then I took the kids to the people across the street and we called the police."

"It turned out that Miss Seabrook's ex-husband had been subpoenaed in some big fraud case in Colorado Springs. His plan was to kidnap his children and flee to Panama. His lawyer tried to deny this and instead argued that he just wanted to see his kids, that I unjustly attacked him, and that none of it was in relation to any separate fraud case. But it didn't do him any good; he ended up plea bargaining to criminal trespass, violation of a restraining order, and some lesser fraud charges."

"After that, I guess I grew accustomed to my role around town. This old man died; and I sort of proved it was murder. My friend Ron and I went to explore this abandoned building that was supposed to be haunted and we found a meth lab. The police used me in a sting operation against a bar that was selling alcohol to minors…Should I uh, go on?"

"That's alright, I think I understand now," Tetradze said, unable to stop himself from grinning. "How did a regular Nancy Drew such as yourself end up with the Bureau?"

"I was approached…My first assignment was in Chicago, the second one was in Dallas. I…I don't think I'm supposed to give too many details though."

"This is your third then?"

"It is, yes."

"Shall we continue to talk about you?" he said very suddenly. "Or would you like to switch back to me?"

Kim was jarred Tetradze's suddenness; but recovered quickly. "Uh…We can talk about you."

"Anything in particular you'd like to know?"

Kim thought for a while, "You…have an interesting name."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Heh, sure."

"What kind of name is it? If you don't mind my asking?"

"I was born in Georgia."

"Georgia the country right? Not the state?"

"Don't let my southern drawl fool you."

She chuckled. "I read about Georgia in school."

"Indeed? What subject? I assume history, but I feel obligated to ask because Georgian society has produced its share of writers and scientists."

"You're right the first time, it was History…Social studies to be precise, I read in my textbook that Joseph Stalin was from there.

"Ah yes, yes. Georgia's most infamous son, his real name was Ioseb Jughashvili. A Georgian who led the successor state to the Russian Empire. Not unlike Hitler, an Austrian that led Germany…or Napoleon, an Italian-Corsican that led France. The psychologist Alfred Adler noticed the preponderance of nationalist leaders that were originally outsiders…"

They talked for a while, Kim was impressed by what a knowledgeable individual Tetradze was. One moment he'd be talking about the history of nation states, the next he'd be talking about biographies he'd read, or how understanding a society's criminal element was integral to understanding the society as a whole.

Occasionally he would point something out as they drove by it.

"To our left is Terminal Island," Ben said as he approached the Vincent Thomas Bridge it's an artificial island used for industrial and port uses. It also houses a federal prison…I believe there's a fellow I put in there."

"Care to tell me about him?"

"He's not nearly so interesting. I suggest we focus on the task at hand, once we cross this bridge we'll be in San Pedro. I trust you've been familiarized with what it is we're doing?"

"Yeah I read the file on this Jimmy Cortlandt. He sounds like a swell guy."

"You're armed right?"

"Yes."

"Good, they told me you could look after yourself. But we're still going to watch each other's back. Okay by you?"

"You're the special agent."

_San Pedro_

Ben and Kim's destination was a building that looked to have been a closed down grocery store. Its exterior was bare except for a "For Lease" sign. The parking lot had over a dozen cars in it, evidently people we're still taking advantage of the free parking. They drove around the grocery store and spotted a white box truck parked by the loading bay.

"The cocaine is in there," Ben said.

"How do you know?" Kim asked.

He handed her a photograph of the exact same truck, only it was of it parked somewhere else. On the back of the photograph was the address of the building they were at.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Yesterday, I spoke to the half-brother of Cameron Ripley. Cameron was one of two men who died to get information about James Cortlandt and this cocaine shipment to federal law enforcement. Cameron's brother was the last one to see him alive and had been entrusted by him with that photograph should something happen."

Kim looked at the white truck. "All this is over drugs?"

Tetradze gently shook his head, "Not likely. There are larger things at work here. You and I are going to collect the pieces and put the puzzle together. Starting with Cortlandt."

Ben got out of the car to place some sort of tracking device under the truck. He then got back in his car and drove them to the parking lot across the street.

"Now we wait," Ben said, turning the engine off.

They didn't have to wait long. Forty to fifty minutes went by before a beat-up car pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store.

"There he is," Ben said, looking through binoculars. "The man of the hour."

Kim, having had fallen asleep, quickly woke up. "Hmm? What?" she said, suddenly alert.

Ben handed her the binoculars "Take a look."

Kim looked through them. A man had exited the beat-up car and was lighting himself a cigarette. She recognized him from the photo in the dossier she had read earlier. James Cortlandt had messy black hair and a short stature; but was built like a brawler. He had a very inconspicuous look about him, walking at a calm pace with a tepid look on his face. As Kim watched him, she doubted to herself that she was looking at a hardened killer.

"Wow, he looks…"

"Unassuming?" Ben finished for her. "The best predators usually do."

Cortlandt disappeared around the corner of the grocery store. A few minutes later, the white truck drove into view. Cortlandt drove the truck out of the grocery's store parking lot and made his way down the street.

"And we're off," Ben said as he started the engine.

"I take it there's plan?" Kim asked.

"We shadow him and see who or where he takes the truck to. In the event of unforeseen circumstances, I'll create a new plan on the fly."

"Do you do that often?"

Ben seemed to take that question seriously and looked at her, "Well it's not difficult…" he said rather defensively.

They followed Cortlandt onto the I-110 heading north out of San Pedro. Down below the interstate where the various neighborhoods of the South Los Angeles area. Once Cortlandt reached Downtown, he exited off the highway, but soon got on another one; the SR-60 heading east towards San Bernardino. But he eventually exited off that one too.

Looking around, Kim saw that they were now in one of the many suburbs in the Los Angeles area. "God, where is this asshole going?" Kim whispered to herself.

Ben heard her and answered, "We're in the San Gabriel Valley. Unless he gets on another highway, I'd be willing to bet his destination is here."

Cortlandt took a very sudden turn down an alley. Ben slowed down his own car, "Looks like he's arrived," he told Kim. "We'll give him a minute and then follow."

Ben drove past the alley Cortlandt had disappeared into and then took a U-Turn. On the way back he jerkily turned into the alley, prompting looks from nearby pedestrians.

The white truck was nowhere in sight. Ben slowly drove down the alley. The alley was L- shaped and continued after a left turn.

"He probably-" Ben abruptly stopped talking as he stepped on the breaks. He had made the alley's left-turn, and both he and Kim were surprised to see the white truck parked in the middle of the alley. The driver's door was open, and "Jimmy the Kidd" Cortlandt was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit…" Ben cursed softly.

"Where'd he go?" Kim wondered.

"I…"

Cortlandt suddenly emerged from behind a dumpster, he was looking straight at them. His previous tepid look had been replaced by an awful smile, it was the smile of someone who could rip you open with their bare hands if they so pleased. In his hands was a stubby shotgun, and he was pointing it right at them.

**Patriot44's Note**

As usual, reviews are appreciated

**Tetradze's Playlist**

"Magnificent Seven" by the Clash  
"Los Angeles" by Frank Black


	3. Chapter 3 - First Domino

**Disclaimer: **_Kim Possible _is property of Disney. I own nothing and don't claim to own anything.

**Warning: **Includes violence & gore, profanity, references to things like sex & drugs, and what some may consider intense scenes. Viewer discretion is advised.

XX

Chapter 3 – First Domino

_San Gabriel Valley, Los Angeles_

Kim's instinct was to duck down as "Jimmy the Kid" Cortlandt fired his shotgun into the front window of the car, but even though the window was damaged, it didn't shatter: Ben's car was bullet proof… _"Cool" _Kim thought.

Ben swung open the driver's door and used it as cover.

"Federal agent! Drop your weapon!" Ben roared, pulling out his handgun.

Cortlandt fired on Ben's position, rounds impacting the bullet proof door. The armed criminal could be heard laughing psychotically.

Kim followed Ben's lead, opening her door and hiding behind it, while also taking out her Glock. She aimed at the back of the truck and fired at it. It was only to get Cortlandt's attention and it worked, he swung the shotgun in Kim's direction and fired, the rounds missing and hitting a nearby wall instead.

The distraction provided by Kim gave Ben the opportunity to rise from behind his door and fire on their attacker. Cortlandt yelled and fell to the ground as a bullet entered his shoulder.

"Yes!" Kim couldn't help but cheer. But her excitement soon turned to shock as Cortlandt leapt to his feet and took off running down the alley, his bleeding shoulder only moderately slowing him down.

"How…" Kim muttered, impressed by the resilience of the thug as he ran down the alley.

Ben was on his cellphone, "Connect me to the San Gabriel Police Department! My name is Ben Tetradze, I'm a federal agent! I've got an armed and dangerous suspect on foot with a GSW and a truck – _Kim, stop!"_

The redhead had taken off down the alley after Cortlandt. The force that drove her, that as she grew older was defining a larger part of who she was and what she did, made her decision clear.

Kim was naturally fast, she always had been, even when she was just a little girl. But Cortlandt had some sort of psycho energy that he was able to tap into. It'd only get him so far, especially

Aware that Kim was behind him, the criminal turned around to aim his shotgun at her. He never got the chance…he never got the chance. With fierce = speed, Kim had grabbed the shotgun with both hands and pointed it towards the ground. Cortlandt fired, but the kickback propelled the rear of the gun into his chest. He fell backwards, his grip on the shotgun loosening, allowing Kim to wrestle the gun away from him. She jumped backwards, putting a few feet of distance between her and Cortlandt. She then safely unloaded the shotgun, the shells hitting the ground.

Cortlandt sat up and squinted uncomprehendingly at the middle school student who had disarmed him.

"Are you ready to give up?" she asked him sternly.

His look of incomprehension became one of seething rage, the more prospect of him coming quietly seemed to light a defiant fire in him. He stood up one knee.

"What are you doing?" Kim said suspiciously.

He pulled up his pants sleeve, revealing an ankle holster with a small revolver in it.

"I wouldn't do that!" Kim snapped, her pistol was already out and pointed at him.

He looked up at her with a demented smile; an unthinking, dead look in his dark eyes.

"Just give up!" Kim commanded, almost pleadingly. "You don't have to die today."

Cortlandt closed his eyes and began laughing, his laughter soon grew hysterical. Kim kept her Glock pointed at him. When he was done laughing, he drew his revolver in another attempt to shoot her, but once again Kim beat him to it.

Two shots rang out.

He fell against the ground, two new wounds in his torso. There was an empty, dying light in his eyes. Within seconds, the light was gone.

Kim lowered her handgun, it suddenly seemed much heavier in her hand.

This hadn't been the first time she'd done it, and she understood that she'd been given no choice.

But still…it was so strange. She was twelve and she'd killed someone. Her parents didn't know, nor did Ron. They knew she did something important, and that it sometimes meant being gone for certain intervals, but they didn't know the extent of who she was and what she'd done. It was also not particularly difficult to hide from them.

It seemed wrong somehow, that she knew what it was like to kill somebody and her life wasn't all that different for it. She was still Kim, she was still able to go to school, to interact with people, to do the things she normally did.

Sometimes she wondered if she was some sort of sociopath…She wouldn't know if she was a sociopath, right? Sociopaths are unaware that they are ones…But then again, if she was a sociopath, would she have had enough self-awareness to consider the possibility that she was one?

There was a person watching her on the other side of a chain link fence, when this person saw that Kim noticed them, they quickly disappeared.

The sound of another person running up behind her broke her out of her trance, she turned and pointed the pistol at the one behind her. Agent Tetradze calmly raised his hands in front of him.

"What happened?"

"He wasn't interested in being taken alive.

Tetradze gazed down at Cortlandt's corpse, "So I've gathered." He shook his head, "It doesn't ever have to be this way, and yet…" He paused for a while as if he was unsure what to say.

"It's not your fault," he eventually said with a sigh.

Kim just nodded.

There were sirens in the distance.

"What do you say we stay here and chill and wait for the good guys to arrive?"

XX

_ATF San Francisco Field Division _

ASAC Caputo hung up the phone in her office, a hard-to-read look on her face. Supervisory Agent Lippert sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Agent Barnes stood with his hands in his pockets and was determinedly gazing out the window of Caputo's office

Caputo placed a hand on her desk and begin to tap her fingers. She avoided looking Lippert in the eyes.

"Is there a problem?" Lippert asked.

"Cortlandt's dead" she responded.

"Tetradze killed him?"

Caputo didn't answer, she looked over at Barnes and stared at him as if she was reassessing everything she knew about the man.

Lippert saw his boss looking at Barnes and soon understood. "Barnes's girl killed Cortlandt?" he asked, appalled.

"That girl has a name Agent Lippert," Barnes said sharply. "Miss Possible or Kim should be sufficient."

Lippert was flabbergasted "What about the Ghost White?"

"The cocaine is in the possession of the local police," Caputo said, "it'll likely go to one of LA's evidence lockups."

Barnes seemed satisfied "Things went well then."

Caputo looked at Barnes incredulously "Except for the part where Miss Possible shot and killed Cortlandt."

"The shooting wasn't under any questionable circumstances, correct?" Barnes asked, looking momentarily concerned.

Caputo uncharacteristically took a moment to respond "…Cortlandt was armed and had fired on Agent Tetradze and Miss Possible."

Barnes shrugged "Armed suspect, shots fire. Returning fire is easily justifiable."

"You seem quite blasé about Miss Possible being the one to put Cortlandt down," Caputo said, looking testy.

Barnes blinked. "You read her file, right? It said that she was equipped for such a thing; that she's proficient with firearms, that she possesses the discretion-"

"There's a difference between reading that a minor is capable of killing someone if they have to, and it actually happening," Caputo said agitatedly.

"If you're concerned about how this will look in your record, then I can-"

"_I'm concerned about the twelve-year old who's just killed a person!" _Caputo yelled.

A tense pause followed. Barnes just stared, having been caught off guard. Caputo sighed audibly; and then seemed to instantly regain her composure. Lippert looked on with his mouth open, startled at seeing his typically poised superior snap at the FBI liaison.

Barnes shifted where he stood and cleared his throat "Agent Lippert? Would you kindly allow Agent Caputo and I to talk one-on-one?"

"I think I should-"

"Lippert leave," Caputo said.

Outnumbered and outranked, Lippert begrudgingly stood up and walked out of Caputo's office.

"Agent Caputo…," Barnes began. "I believe that I didn't properly delineate what type of…individual Kim Possible is, and all that she's capable of."

"Then delineate."

Barnes needed a few moments as he thought of where to begin, "Last year, when she was eleven, she underwent a test that evaluated her disposition, her mental well-being, how she functions and responds to dangerous and potentially life-threatening situations. The results painted a picture of an individual that didn't function the same way others her age did."

"You mean she doesn't have the same thoughts, feelings, and instincts that other twelve years old do?" Caputo said dubiously.

"Not quite, she's your basic average girl, albeit one that is very high-functioning. During her test she displayed an impressive degree of level-headedness, fortitude, and a resistance to stress and trauma. This would also be on top of her talents as a marksman,

"Agent Caputo, you're aware of my reputation in the Bureau? All the taskforces and interagency teams I've been a part of? The high-esteem I'm held in, not just by the Justice Department, but by the Departments of Treasury and State?"

"I am."

"Given all that you know of me, do you believe that I would place anyone in the field who had no business being there?"

Caputo didn't answer, but she didn't have to. Barnes continued.

"Kim Possible is not someone who's been forced into something she wants no part in, nor is she someone who should be in an institution. She's nothing less than an extraordinarily unique young lady who's in a position to do things that most people will never do in their entire lives...Does that clarify things?"

Caputo tilted her head forward and back in a type of reluctant nod. "To an extent I suppose," she said demurely.

"And it might interest you to know this is the second time she's killed someone."

"She killed someone during the previous two times you used her?"

"No, she didn't kill anyone in Chicago or Dallas."

Caputo looked visibly confused, "But then.."

"She was under someone else's supervision during the other time she killed," Barnes said frankly.

There was a pause as Caputo took in this revelation "So…There have been _others _who've made use of her, not just you?"

Barnes sighed, "Agent Caputo, I could tell you about Miss Possible and how she came to be the position she's in for some time, but I believe it's best if we get back to the case at hand."

"I have more questions for you Harris…But yes, you're right. We'll continue this conversation later."

"Very well" Barnes said agreeably. "What's next?"

"I want Tetradze to continue working the case, see who he can connect Cortlandt or the cocaine too. Only problem is the DEA wants to take this case away from us. Cortlandt was on the ATF's wanted list, that gave us a rationale to handle the ball. But now Cortlandt's in the morgue and this is now primarily a narcotics case."

"I have the ability to personally ensure it remains in ATF hands" Barnes offered.

"Let me guess, you have Janet Reno on speed dial?"

"I can do you one better."

Caputo looked at Barnes with one eye "You don't seriously mean who I think you mean?"

"I've been waiting to call in a favor he owes me. He has less than a year left in office, now is as good a time as any."

"Is there a catch?"

"Only that you continue to let Miss Possible assist Agent Tetradze."

XX

_LASD Safehouse, San Gabriel Valley_

Jimmy the Kid's body was taken to the morgue, and the police were to take possession of the truck full of drugs. Kim and Ben had spent a few hours debriefing with them. It was a routine process for Ben, and probably would've gone quicker if the police hadn't taken issue with one thing…And that was Kim.

"And who is this young lady?"

"_She shot the suspect?"_

"What do you mean she's a special consultant for federal law enforcement?"

Ben had been asked variations of these three questions by numerous police officers. From the first officers on the scene, to the plainclothes officers that interviewed them back at the precinct, to the precinct captain.

He patiently explained the circumstances to everyone who asked, but they all just looked at him like he was insane. There was an understandable unwillingness to believe that an armed twelve-year-old was accompanying an ATF agent in the field, and numerous things were said to the effect of "Agent, do you realize how absurd that sounds?" and "I really think I should speak to somebody about this."

The issue was resolved when Ben gave the captain a phone number at the Department of Justice. The captain went to make the call and returned twenty minutes later with a perplexed look on his face. "As I understand it, we're to be as helpful as reasonably possible to Agent Tetradze and his…associate."

Agent Barnes and the ATF arranged for a safe house to be available to them in the San Gabriel Valley. It officially belonged to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department; but was not currently in use by any of their deputies.

Ben had left an hour ago, Kim didn't ask where he was going. He mentioned to her that he didn't function unless he was alone for intervals of time. She had showered and changed into clean clothes, and decided it was a good time to make a call back home.

"Anything else I should know about?... What's Bonnie Rockwaller been doing?... That's typical… Howard McTroy and Richard Goldstein? I've been in classes with them, but I don't know much about either of them…Well yeah, everyone knows about Richard's older brother.

She blushed suddenly "Oh! They know Walter Nelson?... Well, maybe I should talk to them sometime…What about you Ron?... You're notboring. You just need to find interests and activities to occupy yourself while I'm away…Things _besides_ video games and wrestling."

Ben walked in with a bag of what smelled like dinner.

"I have to go now Ron, but I'll be home soon…I miss you too…Okay, bye."

"This wouldn't be the same Ron that was with you when you found that meth lab?" Ben asked as he took the bag to the kitchen area.

"Hmm?... Oh… Yeah, same Ron… He keeps my posted about what's happening in Middleton and at school."

"If I may be so bold… Is he something like your boyfriend?"

Kim looked as if she were caught off guard by this question. But then quickly smiled and laughed charmingly "What? No! Ron's my best friend."

"Wonderful. I assume you're also classmates."

"Only since pre-K."

Ben seemed impressed. "Your oldest friend then? I'm envious, I don't have such long-lasting friendships."

This made Kim rather said "Really? You don't keep in touch with anyone from when you we're a kid?"

Ben made a gentle noise. "My childhood wasn't…conventional. Perhaps I'll tell you about it sometime."

"Cool."

He brought over boxes of food and plastic utensils. "What's Ron like?"

"He's uh…interesting. He's very friendly, very loyal, dependable…," Kim looked as if she was rethinking that last one "…In his own way. A bit childish, goofy, and big-headed…And easily scared…But still, he's great."

He brought over two bottles of water.

"He's not your only friend is he?"

"No, but I…" she hesitated, looking guilty over what she was about to say, "I think I might be his."

"The two of you sound like quite a pair."

"Yeah, I'm used to doing things with him. Don't get me wrong, I can deal when he's not around…But I also really like when it's the two of us doing something. Things are better when you're with a friend."

"Do you wish he was here right now?"

Kim frowned "My handler? Agent Barnes? I've talked about the possibility of Ron coming with me during an assignment, but Barnes explained that not everyone is as unique as me and that he'd be concerned for Ron's safety."

"Barnes is correct though, isn't he? Ron would be in danger, and wouldn't be able to handle danger the way you and I can."

"I'd protect him though," Kim said stubbornly.

Ben smiled warmly, "Would you now?"

"I've been protecting him since the first day we met."

"He's certainly lucky to have you as a friend."

Ben noticed the anxious look on Kim's face. "Ron is home in Middleton awaiting your triumphant return. Not all of us are so lucky to have someone important waiting for us. You can take contentment in that."

She smiled perkily, revealing her braces. "Thanks Ben."

"In the near future, it may be the case that you are in a position to insist that he accompany you on assignments."

"Insist that Ron come with me? You really think I could do that?"

"Look at what you're getting away with already."

Kim narrowed her eyes playfully "What do you mean what I'm getting away with?"

"You're twelve and you've been deemed worthy enough to accompany a federal law enforcement officer in the field. That is itself an astonishing accomplishment. With time and effort, you'll build your name, your reputation, and your clout. You'll be allowed greater latitude in how you go about your activities, and Ron will come with that latitude."

Kim pondered this, taking it all to heart "Wow…I sure hope you're right."

"One of the many things I've learned in my twenty-four-years? If you're good enough at something, you're allowed liberties in how you do it…Now, have you ever had Filipino food before?"

After dinner, they cleared the table and Tetradze placed a folder on it.

"Nelms was able to produce more than thirty names of individuals in the Los Angeles area that Cortlandt was loosely connected to…Only one of them stood out."

Ben laid open the dossier on the table.

"Richard Liu, leader of a Chinese-American crew. Gang affiliations, but not officially a part of any gang himself."

Kim picked up a photo from the dossier. Richard Liu was an Asian man in his twenties who cared a great deal for his appearance, wearing designer sunglasses and a silk shirt. The photo, which was clearly taken without his knowledge, was of him standing outside a donut shop somewhere and having a conversation with another man, the other man's back was to the camera and his face wasn't visible.

"As far as organized crime in Los Angeles, Liu is barely a blip on anyone's radar. He's a nuisance who's a problem for the local PDs in the San Gabriel Valley.

"He's got slightly more tenacity and cleverness than the average degenerate, hence him being in any sort of leadership position. But in the grand scheme of the criminal ecosystem, he's nobody special. He kicks up to the larger Chinese gangs, and they kick up to the Triads. In return, he and his crew get to do dirty work, act as a buffer for other crews, gets to manage the low-level end of things."

"That being said; in the last year he appears to have gotten more ambitious. A substantial amount of black-market jewelry is thought to go through him, and he and his gang have also taken to assaulting and robbing ecstasy dealers. They make sure to target dealers who aren't connected to anyone important, and since the X-dealers can't go to the police, Richie and his crew have faced few consequences for this endeavor."

"He's also supposedly behind two murders: One of the X-dealers was bludgeoned with a brick, and then there was a stolen goods fence who'd been found strung up and stabbed in the basement of his store, all the valuable goods in the place having been absconded with."

"What made him stand out?"

"He's connected to Calvin Shepherd."

This name didn't resonate with Kim, "And he is?"

"It wasn't mentioned in your briefing?" Tetradze asked, looking surprised.

"My briefing only mentioned Cortlandt."

"I see…Well as I said before, two people died to deliver the information about Cortlandt and the Ghost White. Dominic Vedovato and Cameron Ripley, the men who killed Vedovato were traced back to Calvin Shepherd through a financial connection in Carson City, Nevada."

"He had them killed for talking about the Ghost White?"

"It looks that way, yes."

"So…what's Shepherd's game? Is he a drug dealer or something?"

"He's the leader of a criminal organization called the Con-Quest Motor Club. They're street racers; but are also big into smuggling, stealing cars, anything that suits them really."

"A street racing gang?" Kim asked curiously.

Ben shrugged "There's motorcycle gangs. Why should it be any different for those that prefer cars?"

Kim had no response."

"Shepherd's involvement adds another layer."

"Really? What's that?"

"Shepherd has reason to want me dead."

Kim's eyebrows rose "You?"

"Last summer, I was involved in a situation upstate where I had to fire my weapon. I shot and killed an old friend of Shepherd.

"He wants to kill an ATF agent?"

"He's bad news Kim."

Kim blinked rapidly in succession as she began unraveling things "Okay wait…He wants to kill you, but he also killed those two guys for bringing the case about the Ghost White to the feds, and it's a case you happen to be working on?"

"It's unlikely it's a coincidence. Out of all the federal agents in the ATF or any other agency, Vedovato asked for me specifically. It follows that he was aware that Shepherd was connected to the Ghost White, and he was aware that I was someone who'd be interested in Shepherd."

"Now that we've traced the Ghost White to Richie Liu, who's an associate of Shepherd. We

Kim stared in awe "Barnes just gave me the tip of the iceberg, same as Dallas, same as Chicago."

Ben gave Kim a few moments to think. He suspected she would soon have another question for him, and sure enough she did.

"Do you think Liu and Shepherd plan to split the money that's made from the drugs?"

"I'm unsure what to think yet, but I know a criminal conspiracy when I see one. Liu is the next domino, so I suggest you and I find a way to knock him over."

XX

_Whereabouts Unknown, San Gabriel Valley_

Calvin Shepherd paced impatiently as he waited for Richie Liu to arrive. It was night and they were meeting in the basement of a building that was under construction. There was no security except for a gate with a chain lock on it, they used bolt cutters to get inside. A portable light fixture lit up the dark, windowless, basement.

Liu was supposed to receive a shipment of Ghost White cocaine courtesy of a man that Shepherd had hired. But there had been a snafu. The mule was dead, and the cops had the drugs.

Shepherd had to arrange a meeting with Liu and drive all the way out from Hollywood. The situation was small and manageable; but had the potential to snowball into a clusterfuck. The people who had provided the cocaine we're the type that didn't need a good reason to hurt you. When you gave them a reason? A reason as good as losing fifteen keys of the most valuable strand of cocaine in the western hemisphere?... Killing you would be the kindest thing they did.

With Calvin we're his top three guys, all of whom filled out the California Crew of the Con-Quest Motor Club.

Ryan Q was a tall and thin mixed-race guy with brown hair. He came from a rich family back east and was a pompous prick; but he was resourceful, savvy, and connected. He was an above average racer, but his greatest strength was his vehicle; a Mazda RX-7 that he had tricked out with hi-tech parts. In the seat of his finished product, he was one of the most formidable street racers in the Western U.S. For this, and his connections, Shepherd valued him over anyone else in his crew.

Night Devil was a white trash suburbanite with short black hair. Shepherd had found him the same place he'd found Ryan Q. He was one of the stranger cats Shepherd had ever met and had a violent streak that made him useful as an enforcer. When it came to his skills on the road; Night Devil was second only to Shepherd as the club's top racer. He drove a Nissan Silvia and had an energy and obsessiveness that took him from obscurity to his current position in Con-Quest Motor Club's flagship crew. Shepherd valued Night Devil; but was also rather afraid of him and considered it a possibility he'd have to kill him one day.

The last one was Albie, a quiet brunet who wore a permanent gloomy expression on his mug. He didn't say much, and they preferred it that way. They called him Albie because he was a genuine Alabama shitkicker, one who they found working as a bouncer out near the four corners. He had a Dodge Challenger and drove it well enough to keep up with the three of them, but his main role in the crew was that of an enforcer, grifter, and thief. Shepherd valued him, but less than Ryan Q and Night Devil. If he had to cut one of them loose or make a sacrifice, it'd be Albie.

The sound of someone descending the stairs cause all four of them to go for their handguns.

"Who's there?" Shepherd said. "Liu? That you?"

"What do you think?" said Richie Liu's voice.

"Show yourself."

Richie Liu entered the basement, his sunglasses tucked into the pocket of his shirt. He rarely looked happy, but on this occasion; his displeasure was somehow evident.

"Got something to say Rich?" Calvin asked.

"Only that it wasn't my guy that was driving the fucking truck." Richie said plainly.

Calvin grimaced "I know the details, Jimmy wasn't exactly my guy, but…hiring him was a mistake. He was useful to Con-Quest when we expanded into Arizona, I wanted to see what else he could do…It just shouldn't've been this."

"Thanks to your poor judgment, we've got no ghost and a fed onto our shit."

"A fed…" Calvin whispered. Feelings of rage began to boil within him as he realized who was to blame for this predicament. "Tetradze, I should've known. That fucking thing with Vedovato."

"But Vedovato didn't know shit about the truck," Ryan Q pointed out.

"Must've been Ripley or someone else then who gave him that bit...Fuck!" Calvin picked up an empty bucket and threw it against a wall, Albie narrowly avoided getting hit with it. "He fucks up my shit in Redding, he kills Freddy. And now he's fucking with my shit in LA, killing Cortlandt and-"

"Tetradze didn't kill Cortlandt," Richie said.

Calvin was momentarily distracted from his rage "What?"

"According to my cop?" Richie said. "Tetradze was the one who made the bust, but…it wasn't him who shot your pet moron."

Calvin blinked. Tetradze was there, but it hadn't been him who killed Jimmy the Kid? He gave Richie a doubting look "Who shot him then?"

"I thought you might want to hear it from the horse's mouth…The guy who saw it all went down? I brought him with me."

Calvin's guys exchanged looks with each other. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Calvin said in a low dangerous voice. "You brought someone here?"

"Relax…" Richie said calmingly. "It's just some homeless guy. Cops scooped him up near the scene for questioning. Him and my associate are upstairs. Want me to bring them down?"

Shepherd hesitated for a moment, the situation was way fucking weird…Still though, he'd need as much information as possible to fix this.

He nodded. "Yeah…Okay, let's talk to him."

Liu whistled. Two more people could be heard descending the stairs.

The man who entered the basement was disheveled looking and quite clearly homeless, his gray hair was ungroomed along with his scruffy beard. He looked around the room full of gangsters with concern. Entering behind was a burly man in a leather jacket.

"Who're you?" Shepherd asked the burly man. His expression visibly agitated by the appearance of a person he didn't know.

The burly man stared at Shepherd with a hard expression, making it clear he wasn't here to do a Q and A.

"He's nobody," Liu said quickly. "He's with the cop I know. They needed someone to scoop the guy up after the police we're done with him."

Everyone was quiet for a few awkward moments; this basement was starting to feel crowded.

Shepherd turned his attention to the homeless guy, "Hey there old-timer, what's your name?"

"I don't want no trouble," the man said in scratchy voice.

"Christ, relax," Shepherd said with a smile. "I'm asking what your name is."

"Ah…I'm Paul."

"Nice to meet your Paul. Why are you homeless?"

"What are you asking him that for?" Richie Liu demanded.

"It's called being deferential," Shepherd said curtly. "You got another fucking question for me?"

Richie Liu frowned. That'd be a 'No.'

"Ignore him, he's an asshole. Now tell me why you're homeless Paul?"

"My…My brain doesn't work right I guess."

"Sorry to hear that, what was your childhood like?" 

"Not too good. My parents didn't know what to do with me."

"What was your dad like?"

"Angry," Paul said. "Was in the war."

"Which war?"

"The second one…In the Pacific, the Philippines…You ever hear of the Bataan Death March? He survived that…But I think he wished that he didn't."

"At least your dad was a veteran," Calvin said. "The most daring thing my old man ever did was walk the streets of Kensington, Philadelphia in the middle of the night. What about your mother?"

"She got sick and died."

"Shame about it…Mine was a fucking abandoner."

"My father kicked me out after she died."

"And how old were you when that happened?"

"'Bout sixteen, maybe seventeen."

"You been homeless since then?"

"Homeless, living with people, depends."

"Not the best life, but a life all the same right? And it eventually ends, that's one of the better things about life you ask me, that it ends. Who wants to do this shit forever?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Paul said gently.

"Sure, sure…" Calvin said affably "Now then, you want to make some money?"

"Yes, he told me there was money," Paul said, turning his head to the burly man behind him.

"I understand you saw some shit go down?"

"Saw a man get killed, I didn't know him."

"But you got a look at who killed him?"

"It was a girl."

"What girl?"

"A young girl with red hair."

The room was quiet as more looks were exchanged; a young girl killed their mule?

"A little red-haired girl?" Ryan Q said, cracking a grin. "Was she with Charlie Brown?"

Night Devil laughed at Ryan Q's line. Nobody else laughed.

"How old was she?"

"Uh…I don't know."

"Well was she like a teenager? Or younger even?"

"Could be…I don't know."

Shepherd was quiet for a few moments "Okay Paul, I think we're good."

"Can I go home now?"

"You don't have a home, you're homeless," Ryan Q said uncompassionately. "It's sort of the whole premise of the concept."

"He means the alley where Jimmy was shot," Richie Liu said. He looked towards the burly man. "Drop him off there would you?"

The burly man grabbed Paul by the arm and began to lead him towards the stairs.

"Oh Paul?" Calvin said.

"If you tell anyone about this little meeting...You'll die slowly."

Paul just stared, which surprised Calvin. Apparently living such a hard life had given Paul balls of steel. The burly man took Paul's arm and the two of them went up the stairwell out of the basement.

"I wasn't expecting him to say that," Richie Liu said, looking thrown off guard.

"What? You think what he said was bullshit?"

"You don't?"

"If he was gonna lie, why would he create such a dumb lie? 'I saw a child murder him'"

"He fucking admitted his brain doesn't work, who knows why the fuck he does or says anything. So please forgive me if I don't immediately believe we're dealing with Little Red Riding Hood."

"No one gives a shit what you believe Rich," Shepherd said condescendingly. "Right now? Our main priority is to get the Ghost White back."

Richie looked incredulous "The cops have it."

"We still have to get it back, losing it was an unacceptable loss."

Richie was about to say something else, Calvin cut him off "Do the names Max and Victor Rebenga mean anything to you?"

A look of unease flashed across Richie's face, confirming that those names did mean something to him.

"That coke was given to us on credit from them."

Richie looked outright unnerved now.

"You see the fucking issue?"

Richie nodded slowly. "We have to get it back from the cops?" he said in a strange voice that wasn't quite his.

"Not us personally…But there are those who specialize in this sort of thing. I know just who to a call."

"You gonna call your boss?" Richie asked, looking both worried and hopeful.

"I don't have a boss fuck-ass!" Shepherd spat. "I have assets, and those assets are gonna unfuck this for us. Do what you're told Richie, and you'll not only get your cocaine, but you'll never have to meet the Rebenga brothers."

Richie Liu just stared.

"We're leaving" Calvin announced as he headed towards the stairs. Night Devil, Ryan Q, and Albie followed.

"Fuck-ass?" Ryan Q whispered to Albie as they left.

Richie Liu was now alone in the basement, looking very concerned.

Calvin and his crew walked two blocks to the spot where their cars were waiting. The gang leader told his men to go ahead without him.

"I got to call him and then maybe clear my head. Go back to Hollywood, I'll be back soon enough."

As the Mazda RX-7, Nissan Silva, and Dodge Challenger peeled away. Shepherd leaned against the front of his own car, a silver Mitsubishi Lancer. He pulled out his phone and dialed the most important number in his list.

"Hello," said the voice of Calvin Shepherd's benefactor.

"It's me, I'm guessing you know what happened?"

"I can think of very few things that I haven't known before you."

Calvin made an annoyed face, but was careful not to let any of the annoyance drip into his voice "You're gonna…take your own measures then?"

"Very astute, I'm pleased you're not under the impression that I would've given you another chance to screw things up. You might've hired another idiot. Someone who's emblemed themselves with a name even more asinine than 'Jimmy the Kid.'"

"Look, Jimmy was-"

"It's listening time now Calvin," the voice on the other line said with menacing coolness. "You'll be grateful to know that I've already responded to this with the seriousness that is demanded of it. I've made the call to have a trouble-buster sent down, he'll make short work of this nonsense."

"…"

"You can talk now Calvin."

"Who're you sending down?"

There was a pause. "That part isn't clear to you?"

"I…What're you…" Shepherd stuttered.

"When I said that I had responded with the seriousness that was demanded, and that a trouble-buster was being sent down; I had hoped that you'd immediately understand who I was referring to. Do you mean to tell me that I shouldn't've assumed so much of you.?"

The gang leader gritted his teeth angrily. This asshole loved avoiding straight answers; and took every opportunity to belittle him. Apparently, it was time to play a guessing game.

"You'll…probably send Gadsen or Franklin?"

There was no answer, Calvin guessed again.

"Or maybe the other guy – What's he called – The Copperhead?"

This time there was an answer "None of the above."

Calvin frowned, unsure of who else would be sent down for a job as important as this. "You don't mean Hayworth, do you?"

A groan that managed to be both exasperated and patronizing came across the line to greet him "Calvin…_They're _sending _him _down."

It took Calvin two more moments before he realized the answer "Oh…Holy shit."

XX

My biggest chapter yet, I'm proud of it and enjoying the hell out of this story.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Freelancer

**Kim Disclaimer: **_Kim Possible _is property of Disney. I own nothing and don't claim to own anything.

**Warning: **Includes violence & gore, profanity, references to things like sex & drugs, and what some may consider intense scenes. Viewer discretion is advised.

XX

Chapter 4 – The Freelancer

_Somewhere in the Los Angeles area_

None of the employees at the airfield paid any attention to the private jet that had landed and was taxiing into a hangar. It was a common occurrence after all, and they had no way of knowing that a dangerous human predator was the vessel's sole passenger.

Once the jet was parked in the shadows of the hanger, the engine turned off, and the airstair lowered...The passenger emerged from the plane. He descended the stairs in his dark-colored boots and walked purposefully across the hangar to the black Honda Civic that was waiting for him.

Anyone who saw him would notice how odd it was that a man with such shabby clothes would be able to make use of a private jet. His only item was a large gray duffel bag that he had slung over one of his shoulders.

The Honda Civic was unlocked, so he did a quick inventory of the items that we're in the glove compartment and the trunk: Currency, documents, a crate with untraceable firearms and ammunition should he need to make use of them, the usual things he had waiting for him when he arrived in a new place.

He let himself into the driver's seat of the Honda and adjusted the rear-view mirror; taking a look at his reflection in the process. He was in his late forties, had an inconspicuous haircut that could be described as 'brownish,' a matching mustache that was more gray than brown, and greenish-gray eyes. Apart from the usual lines and marks on his face, he often found himself surprised by how well he was aging. The stress and strain of what he did had wore out better men than him, and his scars healed fast.

He resembled your typical middle-aged white man, and that suited him just fine…Better that nobody around him knew what he was truly capable of.

The keys we're tucked in the sun visor, and a pair of sunglasses we're sitting on the dashboard. He put the glasses on his face and the keys in the ignition, it was time to get started.

_San Gabriel Valley_

Ben's black Jaguar was parked between cars on a San Gabriel street. Half a block down the street was a beige Chevrolet Caprice parked outside a pawn shop called "Palm Pawn." Kim and Ben waited patiently for the Chevrolet's owner to finish his business in the palm shop. Kim found it rather difficult to focus with the song that was playing.

_Informer, ya' no say daddy me Snow me I go blame_

_A licky boom boom dem_

'_Tective man a say, say daddy me_

_Snow me stab someone down the lane_

_A licky boom boom dem_

"I can't understand one word he's saying…" Kim said.

"Turn it off, because here comes our man now."

"One of Liu's guys?" Kim asked as she turned off the music.

"Yep, that's Brian Huang."

Brian Huang was tall and skinny. He wore an outdated brown leather jacket with jeans, black loafers and aviator sunglasses. His hair was long and unkempt.

"Oh gosh, I don't care for his fashion sense," Kim said.

Ben chuckled "His file mentioned something about a preference for 'vintage dress'…I can't help but wonder how that bit got into his file."

Huang unlocked the door to his Chevrolet and slid inside. Withing seconds, the car was on and he was off.

"Let's see where he goes…" Ben said happily.

They we're in for a short drive. Huang pulled his car outside a warehouse type building. Ben and Kim watched from afar as he got out of his car and disappeared through a glass door that lead to the warehouse lobby.

Ben handed Kim the binoculars. "What's that sign say above the glass door?"

She looked "The Kellerman Group."

Ben was quiet for several seconds as he went through his mental database of information both useful and non-useful. "I've never heard of them."

"Do you think it's a real company?" Kim wondered.

Ben smiled at her, "Very perceptive. They could of course be a front, but it's just as possible they're a real corporation. Albeit one that is obscure and shady enough to rub up against the criminal element."

"What happens now?"

"I give it an 85 to 95% likelihood that Liu's crew uses this place to stash stolen merchandise. You and I are going put an end to that."

"Do you need a warrant?"

"Huang has warrants in San Bernardino. Seeing him enter that building should be sufficient probable cause. On the off chance there's no stolen goods in there, we'll settle for arresting Huang."

Kim nodded as she followed along "Okay…How do you want to do it?"

"This place probably has a back door. See if you can get inside and cover the exit. I'll wait a few minutes and then enter through the front."

"I'll do my best." 

"Your best is more than satisfactory."

Kim made her way to the warehouse and then creeped along around the side of the building until she came across a stairwell that led to the roof. Spread out across the roof we're beer cans, food wrappers, crumpled tobacco and marijuana cigarettes, and other assorted trash. The messiest section of the roof was a collection of lawn chairs that we're gathered around a makeshift coffee table (a piece of plywood on top of cinder blocks.)

She went to the skylights and looked inside the warehouse. The building was filled with stacks of crates and shelves filled with boxed goods. She didn't see anybody inside. Beneath one of the skylights was a large stack of crates piled high; her way in no doubt.

She went to the makeshift coffee table and took one of the cinderblocks from it. Dragging it over to the skylight, she picked the block up and threw it, smashing the glass and landing on top of one of the crates.

A gymnastics enthusiast all throughout elementary school, Kim gracefully jumped through the now broken window onto the crates; and climbed her way down. She was now in the warehouse.

The sound of voices caused her to vault towards a hiding spot behind a forklift. From there, she watched as Brian Huang and two others come through a door holding cups of coffee.

Kim ducked into the room they had walked out of; it was some sort of backroom office. There was another door with a neon "Exit" sign, obviously a good place to cover while she waited for Ben.

As she waited, she could make out the conversation that Brian and the other two we're having.

"…I don't know man," Brian was saying. "I've been scrapping by on small-time shit, I could use a good score, show Richie I'm an asset."

"I got one you might be interested in Bri."

"Let's hear it."

"There're these people in the valley who're gonna be out of town for the weekend. Get this, the guy who's place it is? He's Ronald Reagan's podiatrist."

"So wait…" the third guy spoke up, "You mean _President _Ronald Reagan?"

"Who else would be I talking about? He's Reagan's foot doctor, so he's gotta have some nice loot in his place."

"Are you sure robbing him is a good idea?" Brian asked.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, I mean like…What if it like brings the secret service down on us? I mean Reagan still has their protection, doesn't he?"

"You think robbing his foot doctor will attract the secret service?"

"Uh…I don't know. Maybe?"

"That's fucking stupid, we can't be attracting attention," the third guy said. "What we gotta do is go see that prick Ralph Guzzo, he'll have-"

The sound of glass breaking ended their conversation.

"What the fuck is that!?"

"Federal agent! Let me see your hands!" Ben was heard yelling.

"Oh shit! Fuck!"

Kim heard running footsteps out in the warehouse floor. One of the footsteps approaching her position, she stuck her leg out into the doorway. An individual who wasn't Brian Huang tripped over her leg and tumbled along the floor of the back office.

The hoodlum looked up at Kim from where he sat on the ground.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Kim," she said as she approached him.

He took out a knife and gestured towards her with it "Get away from-"

Before he could complete his threat, Kim had effortlessly slapped the blade out of his hand. As he sat there looking dumbstruck, Kim drew her Glock. "Don't get up."

He stared up at the armed girl in awe "What the hell? Who the fuck are you?"

"You already asked me, I'm Kim."

Ben soon arrived with another perp in handcuffs.

"Hey look…" the perp tried to say, "I was-"

"Talk to a lawyer," Ben said dismissively.

"Where's Brian?"

"He escaped through a loading dock. I caught a glimpse of him scaling a chain link fence."

"Should we-"

"No, let him run. He may be useful again later."

"And these two?"

"I saw a phone in the lobby. Call the police, tell them the ATF has a warehouse full of loot and two perps."

XX

_Richie Liu's Social Club_

The place where Richie Liu and his crew hung out in used to be a billiard hall. Back in the late 1970s, a loan shark took it over when its owner was unable to pay his debts. Since then its ownership exchanged three times, each new owner just another asshole in a city that was full of them.

Richie had got it cheap from some shit-ass biker gang that was on their last legs, they we're selling off all their places in the city and heading towards the Inland Empire…Richie knew not to ask.

He had taken out all the pool tables and old shit and brought in couches, chairs, tables, a television, and a foosball table, one of his guys even supplied a Nintendo 64. They had updated the bar and redecorated last summer, so the place actually had some class. Richie didn't feel very classy right now though, he felt like a scared shitbird.

The man who sat across from him carried himself with such confidence and menace that Richie found himself somehow forgetting that it was his own place they we're in.

Calvin Shepherd had called him that morning and told him to expect a "freelancer" to show up at his club at around eleven, one who was going to sort out the shit with the Ghost White. When Richie asked what the guy's name was, Calvin responded with "That's a joke right?"

Richie called five of his guys and told them to meet him in the club's parking lot at half past ten. When he got there, he told them to hang around outside and "send the guy in" when he got there. After that he entered the club alone and saw something that nearly gave him a heart attack…Already inside the club was a middle-aged man he'd never seen before staring at him like the grim reaper.

"Richie Liu…" the Freelancer had said, it hadn't been a question.

"…"

"I understand you have a job for me?"

Not ten minutes later, they sat at one of the tables in the club. Spread out on the table was a diagram of the police evidence locker where the Ghost White was stored, supplied to him by his contact in the police.

"There's usually only two or three cops there," Richie said. "But my guy says they got like six there now. They're guarding the cocaine, it's a big haul for them."

"Only fifteen kilos?"

"Yeah, is that alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" the Freelancer asked with a raised eyebrow.

Richie suddenly found it hard to talk "Oh well I…I mean…You uh…It sort of seemed like you asked like you were clarifying, so I just…"

The Freelancer continued to stare at him.

"I just wanted to make sure it was alright…" he finished quickly; his words jumbled.

The Freelancer leaned back in his chair "Now there's just the matter of where I take it once I've obtained it."

Richie opened his mouth to tell him, but the Freelancer held up his finger. He produced a pen and a notepad and slid it over towards Richie.

"Write it down."

Richie did so and slid it back.

The Freelancer looked at the notepad "I can find it."

"You gonna do this by yourself or do you need any of my guys?"

The Freelancer looked pointedly at him "What?"

Richie knew at once that he said something wrong, "I thought that you..." he started, but stopped himself. "Never mind," he mumbled.

"Never mind what?" the Freelancer said, calmly but fiercely.

Richie placed his hand on his face, being evasive was getting him nowhere with this guy. "Look, I didn't…"

"Do you want to know where I was eight hours ago?"

"Do I want what?"

The Freelancer looked impatient "Ask me where I was eight hours ago" he snapped.

"W-Where were you eight hours ago?" Liu asked compliantly.

"I was in Canada. More specifically, I was the middle of the wilderness in British Columbia at a place no one would've ever been able to find me at. I got a call from someone who doesn't contact me for no reason, I received my instructions and was given your name. I drove to an airstrip that is only ever used by seven people, including myself. I flew as the only passenger on a four hour, cross-border flight to Los Angeles. At another airstrip not far from here, I got in a vehicle that had been left for me. In this vehicle was weapons and ammunition, fifty-thousand dollars' worth of U.S. and Mexican currency, and various forms of fraudulent identification documents. I then made my way to this address."

"Tell me…Do you think I would've come all this way, and those arrangements would've been made, if I alone wasn't sufficient to resolve this issue that you have?"

Richie Liu didn't know how to respond; all he could think was _"Who the fuck am I talking to?"_

"Those guys out there? They're cannon fodder, they'll only…"

The Freelancer trailed off as he and Richie became aware of a commotion that was going on outside.

Brian Huang burst through the front door, looking like he just run several blocks. He was followed by another one of his guy's named Justin.

"You need to hear…" Brian said, taking a moment to catch his breath "…What the fuck just happened to me."

"I tried to tell him you we're busy!" Justin said haplessly.

Richie glanced at the Freelancer who was observing Brian with a hard to read expression. When he noticed Richie was looking at him, he shot him a severe look. Richie quickly looked away.

"It…It's fine Justin, just go outside."

As Justin left, Richie got up from his seat and went up to Brian.

"You've got the timing of an earthquake asshole," he irately whispered to his flunky.

"The warehouse got hit!"

Brian now had Richie's full attention "What?"

"Kellerman got hit. I went there with some merch from Palm, talking to Preposterous Keith and Xiao. And this guy busts in shouting he's ATF."

Richie remembered the fed Shepherd mentioned, the one named Tetradze. It had to be the same guy, right?

"What was his name?" Richie asked.

"Who?"

"The guy with the ATF!"

"Oh…I don't know."

"What'd he look like?"

"I bailed the moment he showed up!"

"What about Xiao and Prep Keith?"

"They either got knabbed, or they got away like me."

"And you just saved yourself?"

"It's not like I–"

Brian stopped jabbering as he noticed the freelancer looking at him from where he sat. "Who's this guy?" he asked Richie.

Richie looked at the Freelancer with an appeasing expression "He's uh…with those guys we hooked up with."

"He must've followed you," the Freelancer said as he pulled out a pair of black gloves.

"What?" Brian responded, once he realized he was the one being addressed.

"The federal agent showed up after five minutes after you arrived, so he must've followed you?" He was now putting the gloves on his hands.

"Um…" Brian hesitated, unsure what to say, or if he was even under any obligation to say anything. "Y-yeah I guess so," he admitted.

The Freelancer stood up and approached Brian, who took a step back "Then you're a natural mark for shadowing. How can you be sure somebody didn't follow you here?"

"I'm…What?" Brian said dumbly.

The Freelancer very suddenly brought up his hand and punched Brian in the neck, the younger man let out a pained gasp and feel over. Moving quickly and precisely, the Freelancer then used both hands to catch Brian by the head before he could hit the ground. He then used his hands to twist Brian's neck, a cracking sound was heard, and an awful noise escaped from Brian's mouth.

The Freelancer twisted Brian's neck again, there was another crack, and the noise that Brian had been making was reduced to a nearly inaudible croak.

He twisted his neck once more; Brian did not move or make a sound.

The Freelancer stood still for a moment; still holding Brian's lifeless form by the neck.

Richie stared with his mouth open, not fathoming what had just occurred in front of him.

The Freelancer released Brian from his grasp, his body fell to the floor.

"What-What did you…"

"It seems those assholes out there may have some use after all" the Freelancer said calmly, taking off his gloves. "Can they be trusted to dispose of a corpse?"

Richie forced his head on straight, "Um…yeah, they can do that."

The Freelancer headed towards the club's back door.

"Where are you going?" Richie asked.

"I have what I need to get started," the Freelancer said over his shoulder. "Wait here until I get back, I'd rather not have to look for you."

Richie stared at Brian's corpse, he never liked Brian, but that was hardly the point.

What had he gotten himself into?

Justin reentered through the front door "Hey Rich, wh—" He saw Brian's corpse. "What the fuck happened!?"

XX

_California Classic, San Gabriel Valley_

Some time after noon, Ben and Kim we're having lunch at a diner called "California Classic." The San Gabriel police had hauled away the two suspects, and we're now in the process of going through the warehouse and all its contents. All the stolen goods would be identified and eventually returned to their rightful owners, and the local black market would be taken down a notch.

"Was it really a good idea to let Brian go?" Kim wondered.

Ben drank some coffee "There's a BOLO out for him. Like I said, he already has warrants. If anybody sees him, they'll pick him up. I don't anticipate it will be difficult to make a turncoat out of him. If he knows about anything about his boss and his affairs regarding the Ghost White, then that just makes our job easier."

He set his cup down. "In the meantime, we keep playing offense against Richie Liu."

"I can't wait to see what else you have planned," Kim said with a grin.

"Tonight, we'll be striking while the iron is still hot. Richie Liu has this-"

Ben was interrupted by his sat-phone ringing. He nodded to Kim in a "I beg your pardon" sort of way as he took the call.

"Good evening Captain, to what do…" Ben trailed off as the Captain began speaking urgently.

Kim saw the alarm in Ben's face as he listened. She stared intently and tried to hear what the Captain was saying.

"This just happened?" Ben asked.

Ben listened more. Kim continued to devote her full attention.

"Say no more, we'll be over there soon."

He hung up. Before Kim could utter one syllable, Ben told her, "The evidence locker has been hit. The Ghost White is gone."

XX

_Richie Liu's Social Club_

Late that afternoon, Richie Liu was alone in his club. He had Justin and K.D get rid of Brian's corpse and sent the other guys around to all the fences they did business with, warning them to hide their merchandise. After that, he sent them all over to a rundown hotel they frequently hung D. He then decided to get high and play Nintendo, which was what he usually did when he needed to calm down.

He had lunch delivered to him from a nearby restaurant, remembering the Freelancer telling him to wait at the club. Even if it had been more of a suggestion than an order, Richie was not about to fuck with that guy. He was enjoying an afternoon nap on the sofa. He answered it and heard the Freelancer's voice "I'm behind your place, come meet me."

When Richie went out the back door, he was confused to see the Freelancer wasn't anywhere in plain sight. That was until the man soundlessly emerged from around a nearby corner, which was more unnerving than it should've been.

"What happened?" Richie asked.

"I retrieved your merchandise; I took it where you wanted."

He was quiet after that, Richie then realized it was his turn to say something, "Oh…Good…So what now? Are we done then?"

The Freelancer shook his head gently, "Not yet."

Richie hadn't been expecting that, "We're not?"

"Running loss prevention is only one of my objectives. I have another objective that is of importance to my employers, who perhaps I should remind you are also your associates. They expect you to aid me in its completion."

Richie didn't like the sound of this "What's your other objective?"

"We're going to kill a federal agent," the Freelancer said with cold-blooded confidence.

Liu stared at him in shock.

"And you already know his name," he added.

XX

_Rick's Quick Serve Car Wash, Hollywood_

Calvin Shepherd was cleaning his Mitsubishi Lancer at a self-service car wash when he received the car from his benefactor.

"He has the shit?" Calvin said "That's great."

"We can be confident that he'll ensure it's safekeeping. Once his work in Los Angeles is done, he'll notify us, and I will have you and your men fetch it."

"Wait – I'm gonna fetch it? Not Liu?"

"Liu is not long for this world."

Shepherd understood, but was taken aback by it "But he has the connect, the guy out in-"

"We now have the attention of law enforcement, and they know Liu's part of the equation. Your friend Tetradze hit a warehouse of his just this morning."

"Oh fuck."

"Liu is now a lability. The man from up north will make whatever use possible of Liu and his associates, and then he will dispose of them. Once you receive the call from him, you'll go to where he has the Ghost White and take possession of it. You'll then take it to a location where it'll be safe until the heat cools down."

Calvin made a skeptical sound.

"Do you have something you liked to say to me Calvin?" the benefactor said precisely.

"It'll take a year for this shit to cool down."

"Let us worry about that, the gears are already in motion."

"What do you mean?"

"We have someone who will take your place as the main person of interest in this case."

Shepherd scratched the back of his head "Don't suppose you'd like to tell me who?"

"Karl Hoffman. Debaucherous Eurotrash and Las Vegas porno king. Brushes up against narcotics, the enterprising."

A sketchy looking man swaggered up to Shepherd. "That's a bitchin' car."

Shepherd opened his jacket to flash his gun.

"Oh fuck, okay, I'm leaving." The man scurried off.

"Calvin, are you listening?"

"Uh…yeah. Karl Hoffman, keep going."

"The feds will receive intelligence indicating Hoffman used your identity to make arrangements with Liu and Jimmy the Kidd, and to hire Sotirios Fotopoulos to kill Tetradze through that connection in Carson City. Naturally, Hoffman will disappear and never be seen again, and it'll be easy to assume he went on the run."

"You're gonna used this guy as a patsy, and make it look like he was using me as a paty?" Shepherd said in a semi-amused voice, it was actually kind of brilliant, but very bold. "You sure that'll work?"

"It'll do. There'll be little tangible evidence against you, and few people alive to implicate you."

Shepherd liked what he was hearing, but he saw one major issue "Tetradze will see through it."

"He'll be dead soon enough."

Shepherd's benefactor hung up on him.

XX

I have a full-time job now, which is why I haven't updated in a while. I promise though that I will work on this as often as possible.

Next chapter, we learn more about the Freelancer, and how he hit the evidence locker. We also see Kim and Ben butt heads about how to tackle such a dangerous new foe.

**Tetradze's Playlist**

"Magnificent Seven" by the Clash

"Los Angeles" by Frank Black

"Informer" by Snow


End file.
